


this conversation's been dead on

by doctorkilljoy



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Angst and Humor, Demonic Cameo, Demonic Possession, Demons, Happy Ending, Haunting, M/M, Not Beta Read, i don't say it but if you follow me on tumblr you know, you know who the demon is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-27 05:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkilljoy/pseuds/doctorkilljoy
Summary: Pete is the host of a YouTube ghost hunting show called Dead on Arrival. His team consists of Joe, the historian, Andy, the cameraman, and Patrick, the medium. After a successful Kickstarter campaign, the crew is off to a lock-in at a haunted mansion on Halloween night. But something is lurking within the mansion's walls, something that wants them to leave.





	this conversation's been dead on

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I watched too many episodes of BuzzFeed Unsolved. Huge thank yous to Snitch, Kindchen, Laudanum, Glitter, Gin, Snow, and anyone else I might have missed from the Trick or Pete challenge. Thank you for encouraging me, acting as a sounding board, and convincing me to keep going even though I really wanted to give up. I dedicate this fic to all of you. 
> 
> Happy Halloween!

"Hi, I'm Pete Wentz. I'm in front of the infamous Hart-Rose Mansion," Pete said into the camera. "With me is Joe," he gestured to Joe who held up his hand in greeting, "and Patrick," who managed a small, shy smile and a wave.

"We're here to see if this place is haunted. And we're doing something a little different for this one. As promised, we're going to be live streaming this hunt. That's right, we're locking ourselves in from dusk to dawn. In a house that's reputed to be the home of murderous specters and even a demon. On this, the Halloween episode of Dead On Arrival."

"Cut," said Andy, and they relaxed. Andy stepped back from the camera set up and said, "Good work, but we need to do a couple of backups. Let's get those out of the way first. Then I'm gonna get some establishing exterior shots. You guys can move the rest of the equipment inside."

"Yes, Mom," Pete groaned.

"You don't get to complain," Patrick said. "This was your idea."

"Oh c'mon, you love it," he said.

Patrick glared at him and didn't respond. He looked up at the old manor, and Pete could see it was his 'I am trying not to scream at you' face. That really shouldn't have been so adorable, and yet it was.

They redid the intro two more times, then they started moving the equipment inside. Their Kickstarter had been wildly successful. And they'd managed to buy everything his ghost hunting heart desired. And it was quite a haul.

He'd gotten a laser grid, several different kinds of cameras, tape recorders, the works. Pete had wanted to get a spirit box as well but Patrick had said no. More specifically he'd said, "They're noisy and they don't fucking work."

"Besides, we don't need a spirit box, we have Patrick," Joe pointed out. So Pete hadn't bought it.

It was a pain in the ass to move, and Pete and Andy had done most of the set up the previous day. The caretaker had been unhelpful to straight-up hindering. When she handed the keys over she said, "I hope you know what you're doing."

"We're professionals," Pete assured her.

She gave him a look that said she did not believe it. And who could blame her? From his guyliner to his girl jeans, he did not look like he could be trusted with a mid-priced sedan. Let alone a multi-million dollar mansion. But the rental check had cleared so the house was theirs.

When they'd finished moving the rest of their things inside, Joe asked, "So who's going where?"

"Wait, we're not splitting up are we?" Patrick asked in return and Pete shrugged.

"Yeah, I mean this place is pretty big and there's only four of us," Pete said.

Patrick's glare turned into a full scowl. "That wasn't part of the deal, Peter."

Pete knew he would have to tread carefully. If Patrick was calling him Peter, that meant he was five seconds away from giving Pete a bloody nose. “It’ll be fine! We can cover more ground this way. Besides it’s not as though a ghost has ever killed anyone.”

“Famous last words,” Patrick grumbled.  
"Technically that isn't true," said Joe. "Remember the Bell Witch Haunting? When John Bell died the coroner ruled he was poisoned by a ghost. So per US law, a ghost has killed at least one person."

"Yeah, but he was a dick so he doesn't count," Pete replied.

Patrick rolled his eyes and went up the stairs, probably to freak out in a bathroom. Bathrooms were Patrick’s safe space as, according to him, they were almost never haunted. “Say hi to Moaning Myrtle for me!” Pete called after him

“Fuck you!” Patrick shouted back.

Pete chuckled and got back to work. It was going to be a long night.

As he did, his thoughts, as always, turned to Patrick. What he wanted to do was to go upstairs and comfort him. Assure him everything would be all right. He also wanted to find the nearest closet and make out with him until they both ran out of breath. Something he knew Patrick wouldn't welcome.

They'd talked about it, once, right as Dead on Arrival was starting. Pete had met Patrick at a party, and told Pete, "There's a ghost behind you." Pete had laughed it off thinking it was a joke. The party was to celebrate the first three episodes of Dead on Arrival. Pete thought Patrick was adorable and asked if he'd like a drink.

It turned out it wasn't a joke, Patrick was seeing Pete's grandmother. Who said in no uncertain terms that Pete was wasting his life on ghost hunting and he should get a real job. "Does she know she's a ghost?" Pete had asked.

Patrick nodded. "Yeah. I mean, she's not going to stick around. I think she's only visiting. But she wanted me to tell you that."

And it had gone on from there. Patrick hadn't wanted to be a television medium. Even though he could have surpassed John Edward and that chick from Long Island with the hair. He didn't like it, but it was hard to deny the kind of money it could make.

"I do readings on the weekends," Patrick said. "It buys me studio time."

"You're a musician?"

"Yeah."

They had a mutual passion for music, but Pete had already tried that avenue and it hadn't worked out. So instead, he went with ghost hunting. It was a weird hobby that turned into an actual career, and three years later it was paying all their bills. And the entire time, Pete still thought about that first night. How he'd wanted to invite Patrick home with him. Patrick had refused, saying, "I'm not sure I'm ready for something like that." Which made sense, he was fresh out of high school. He was a friend of Joe's. The reason he'd come to the party was that he wanted to meet some people who might be interested in starting a band.

Instead, he got a job as the reluctant medium on a ghost hunting show.

"Hey, Pete," Andy said. "Move it. We've got a lot to do before sunset."

He realized he'd been daydreaming, and had been fiddling with the same laser field for ten minutes. "Yeah, right, sorry!" Pete said and got back to work.

* * *

Several hours later, Pete was handing the key over to their friend Mikey. Andy was filming as Pete said, "Remember, don't come back until dawn."

Mikey raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yeah, it's fine. If there's an emergency we've got the viewers. They can call the cops," said Pete.

"I'll be watching too. Don't do anything stupid," Mikey said.

"We're already doing something stupid," Patrick muttered. Joe laughed and Andy snickered.

Mikey nodded and said, "I'll come back if something goes wrong. Or if you're being _really_ stupid I'll send Gerard."

"God please, don't," Patrick groaned. "The last thing we need is Mr. Night King himself thrown in the mix."

"You know someday you're going to have to learn to be more tolerant of witches," Joe said.

"Isn't Gerard a guy?" Andy said with confusion from behind the camera.

"Witch isn't a gendered term," Mikey said.

Pete pulled Mikey into a hug and said, "Don't worry, I've got it all under control."

Mikey snorted. "No, you don't."

They pulled apart, and Mikey waved a bit before locking the door behind himself.

Pete turned back to the camera. "Okay, so, let's give everyone the tour. Joe, you ready?"

"Always!" Joe said, and he took his place beside Pete. Patrick sighed and went upstairs again. He couldn't be there for Joe's history explanation. Patrick was the psychic, and it would muddle any evidence gathered if he were there while it was going on. Pete could see he was still mad, but he wasn't about to show it on camera.

They started in the foyer, and Joe started talking. "The Hart-Rose mansion was built in 1876 right here on the outskirts of Chicago. It was commissioned by William Henry Hart for his young bride, Hildegard Rose."

"How young?" Pete asked.

"Oh prepare for gross-out," said Joe. "She was fourteen."

"And how old was he?"

"Forty-five, old enough to be her dad."

Pete made a face. "Fucking pedo."

"Moving on," Andy said. Joe nodded.

"The reason they married is completely insane. Hart met Rose at this party for her sister who was just coming out to society. Normally a girl of Rose's age wouldn't be in attendance but since it was at their home she was there. He told her father that she was the picture of innocence and asked for her hand."

"Because that's not weird at all," Andy groaned.

"It definitely raised eyebrows at the time," Joe said. "However, the couple never actually consummated the marriage. Hart wanted to keep Rose's innocence intact. It was important to his work."

"Dun dun dun!" Pete said dramatically, startling a laugh out of Joe.

Andy took a sweeping camera shot of the foyer as Joe narrated.

"They had the kind of wealth that would make the Kardashians choke from jealousy. Not only him but her too. The thing is though, they also had a healthy dose of crazy to go with it. Which we're about to get into, so buckle up," Joe said. They had moved into the main parlor by now, Andy keeping the camera steady. Pete was sure the viewers were probably tuning in by now and hoped they were loving what they were seeing.

"This is the parlor, where Rose would greet guests and serve tea. Hart would monitor from a hidden chamber here," Joe said. He went to what looked like a very solid bookcase with a mirror. He pulled a sconce down and a door swung open, revealing a dusty chair and table. The table had an old glass decanter on it, long since empty. "He would wait until the drugs his wife slipped their guests would take effect, so the real work could begin."

"Who were the guests, Joe?" Pete asked.

"Beggars, immigrants, anyone who wouldn't be missed. They were brought in the servant's entrance. They were told they were being interviewed for a service position. While the Harts did employ a sizable staff, each was handpicked by Hart. Only after a rigorous interview process. He didn't want anyone who wouldn't be on board with his mission," Joe explained.

"And what was the mission?" Asked Andy.

"We'll get to that when we get upstairs," Joe promised. "Moving on. Rose would serve tea and talk to these people until the drugs she'd slipped into the pot would take effect. Once they were unconscious, Hart would leave his little room and check to make sure they were well and truly out.

"He would do this by taking a pin or a knife and jabbing it into their chest. Legend tells of one instance where an Irish woman looking for work in the kitchens woke up with Hart over her. He'd shoved a hatpin in her breast. She screamed and managed to escape the house. When she told authorities of what had occurred she was not believed. Due to her low social status and general ill feelings towards the Irish at the time."

At this point, Pete gestures and Andy points the camera at him. "It's rumored this parlor is a hot spot, as along with the druggings, it was said that Rose would hold seances here. But seances for what, we'll get into later. It's been reported that the ghost of Rose herself will appear in this room. Often, she will wail or cry, and vanish. We've installed two webcams, a laser field, and a tape recorder to attempt to capture this," he said. "Let's move on to our next point of interest. After you." Pete held his hand out, and Joe proceeded out of the room.

They were next on the first landing grand staircase, and Joe and Pete stood next to each other. Andy a few steps below them, filming.

"This is another hotspot, the Maiden's Staircase," Joe said. "According to legend, Rose had a ladies maid who died on these steps. It was said that she tended to Hildegard as best she could, trying to protect her from her own husband. Once Hart found out she encouraged Rose to leave him, he threw her down the stairs. Which resulted in her breaking her neck. Her body landed right where we're standing and was left there for an entire day."

"While no ghosts have been seen, a blood-curdling scream and the sound of a person falling are heard. We've set up some recording equipment to attempt to capture this sound," Pete said. He pointed to where he'd put a tape recorder on the head of the banister.

They went up the stairs and found themselves in a long corridor. Joe started talking again.

"We're only going to be able to explore this half of the second floor of the house," Joe explained, pointing to the left. There was a velvet rope with a sign that said "Keep Out" and behind it, a lot of dust, darkness, and the smell of rotting wood. Andy turned his camera to film it as Joe continued. "As you can see, this part of the house has fallen into disrepair and is condemned."

Pete smiled. "Allegedly any workers who attempt to renovate this part of the house are attacked. By something inhuman. And we can't cross the rope without the caretaker coming down here and immediately killing us. we've set up a camera in front of it along with a tape recorder." True to his word, there was a camera and tape recorder seated on a table next to the rope.

They moved on to the next spot. It was the frilliest Victorian bedroom he'd ever seen. There was lace and velvet everywhere, even on the walls. What really set the ick factor were the rows and rows of dolls on every available surface. They were all in perfect shape, though they were giving Pete the creeps. Pete was vaguely starting to wonder where Patrick went to when Joe started talking again.

"This is one of the major hotspots of the house. The private boudoir of Hildegard Rose. She had a room separate from her husband, where she would spend most of her time. When she wasn't doing Hart's bidding she could usually be found here reading. Most of the books she read were on witchcraft and occult rituals. Rose rarely went to social functions. Though when balls or parties were held here at the mansion, it's said she was an exquisite hostess. Many thought perhaps the reason she didn't go out was a morbid shyness, as she rarely spoke in public."

"Now here's why her room is so important," said Pete. "The person actually haunting it is Hart's valet. Much like the maid who died on the staircase, we don't know his name. But he has been spotted in this room. According to the caretaker, she's seen him appear right in this spot."

Pete moved and pointed to the ground. "She said he howls like a madman and then vanishes. We had a little trouble setting up surveillance in this room because of the dolls. Allegedly, they move on their own. So we rigged a camera in each corner by the ceiling to try to capture that movement. And now on to the last hot spot."

They left, and Pete was glad to be going. He really didn't like those freaky little dolls.

Andy followed Pete and Joe down the hall. Joe opened the doors with a flourish and said, "Welcome to the theater."

It looked like something out of a gothic horror film. There were rows of seats, set up in a tiered fashion so everyone could get a look. In the center of the room was an old gurney covered in what Pete optimistically thought was rust. The gurney had thick leather straps. There was a table nearby with several wicked-looking tools. They were faded and tarnished with age. Pete would have bet his last dollar they were still razor-sharp.

"Just as a preface, we were told by the caretaker she never comes in here," Joe said to the camera. "She finds it too disturbing. And given the history of this part of the building, no one can really blame her. It's said that Hart would dismember the men his wife drugged downstairs right in this room. He would then dispose of the bodies by burning them."

"I'd like to take this time to mention, there is actually a full crematorium set up in the basement," Pete explained. "However, that area is off-limits in like, the worst way possible. We can't get inside as the caretaker had it sealed off when she first took possession of the house. Believe me, if I could, I'd have a camera and tape recorder set up down there. But it's been bricked off."

"Exactly. And you'd think someone would have been suspicious about the huge furnace in the basement. Capable of roasting an entire human corpse but once again, chalked up to weird rich people," Joe joked.

"That really does explain so much," Pete said.

"It's said there were also strange sights and sounds around the house. Some reported screams, other demonic chanting. There were dozens of reports to the police. However, the money the couple had managed to make most of those reports end up in a trash pile somewhere. It wasn't until a neighbor's kid disappeared that the cops did anything," Joe said to the camera.

"A witness had seen the boy being lured into the mansion by Rose," he continued. "When the cops came to call, a terrified servant led them to this very room. Hart found was experimenting on the child. They arrested him on the spot, but the boy was already dead."

Pete took over from there. "The police searched the mansion and found remains from several individuals who have never been identified. When they got into Rose's room, they found her dead on the bed. When police had ended the house she poisoned herself. Hart died in jail the next day having swallowed his own tongue. After their deaths, their personal papers were discovered. The work that Hart was so dedicated to turned out to be a hideous project.

"In her diary, Rose said she had summoned a demon in her seances. One that promised immortality if they could give it a body. One had to be custom-built. Parts were taken from each of their victims to make the body for this creature. She said it had taken up residence in the house. And it gave Hart the knowledge to perform surgery and Rose the wiles to charm their victims."

He then moved around the gurney and pointed. "We've set up as many cameras as possible in this room, as it's said that Hart and his last victim often appear right here." He slammed his hands down on the gurney, making Joe and Andy jump. "I've also got a laser grid in here with motion detectors. This is the hottest spot in the house. So many paranormal events have occurred here, we don't have time to list them all. But, needless to say, if there's anything here in the Hart-Rose mansion, this is the most likely place to find it."

He threw his arms out with a flourish. "Now, let's go find Patrick. We can find out what everyone's favorite medium can see. And maybe give the ghosts a chance to speak for themselves. We're taking a short break from the regular camera, but you can still watch us on the webcams. Stay tuned."

Andy turned the camera off and put it down, saying, "Don't you guys think you're laying it on a bit thick?"

"I don't think we're making it thick enough," Joe said. "That's the sanitized version."

"He's right. There's some nasty stuff that makes Madame LaLaurie sound like a saint," Pete added.

"That's a frightening prospect," Andy grumbled.

They left the theater, Andy carrying the camera. Pete knocked on a few doors and called, "Patrick? Patrick! Hey, where are you?"

"Maybe he's hiding," Joe said.

"Maybe he's upset," Andy added.

"Maybe he's right here and trying to fucking concentrate!" Patrick snapped, and all three jumped and turned around. Patrick was coming out of one of the bedrooms, and he did not look the least bit happy. "Look, Pete, I know you want to please the viewers but I don't know if I can do this."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Pete said.

"And how would you know?" Patrick asked. "Since when do you see ghosts?"

Pete had to admit Patrick had him there. "Guys, give us a few minutes?"

"I have to go check the lights anyway," Andy said.

"I'm getting a soda," Joe murmured, and he and Andy went downstairs.

They left, and Patrick said, "Pete, really, I can't do this. Please don't make me."

"Whoa, Trick, stop. What's the matter?" Pete asked.

"I don't wanna be locked up here all night with these people and a fucking demon!" Patrick yelled. He was hugging himself and pacing the hall, tugging on his cardigan like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

"Wait, you've seen a ghost already? But you're still wearing your glasses." Pete admittedly didn't know a lot about being a psychic or a medium. But he did know that in order for Patrick to do his thing he had to take his glasses off. Pete had asked him once why that was so important. Patrick had told him that his power didn't work when his vision was being corrected.

Patrick glared at him. "Yeah, well, the ghosts here are so powerful I can see them with these fucking things on. I don't like it here, and they don't want us here."

"And there is a demon?"

"Yes, Pete! There's a fucking demon! It's in the basement and it knows we're here! Margaret already told me it's not bound there and it can leave whenever it likes. We should get out of here."

Pete blinked. "Who's Margaret?"

"I think she was a maid or something, I ran into her on the stairs," Patrick muttered.

"Yes! Confirmation!" Pete turned to where one of the webcams was mounted and said, "See folks? Patrick had no way of knowing that story."

Patrick looked at the webcam too, and then back at Pete. "That's all you care about, isn't it?"

"What?" Pete asked, turning back to look at him.

"Your stupid fucking show!" Patrick shoved him, and Pete stumbled into the wall.

"You're going to get us all killed so some random fucks on the internet pay attention to you! We're going to die, Peter! We need to get out of here! That thing in the basement is already plotting to murder us. Or worse!"

"Hey, calm down," Pete said. He grabbed Patrick by the shoulders and said, "Look, we're good, we've got protection."

Patrick was glaring at him and he asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Come downstairs," Pete replied. He grabbed Patrick's hand and down they went. When they reached the parlor, Pete smiled and showed him what he'd done. On the floor was a large circle, and in that circle were magical symbols. Pete had copied it out exactly as Mikey and Gerard had instructed. There was a table in the center with several magical objects.

As Patrick stepped closer, he asked, "What the hell is all of this?"

"It's a protected space," Pete replied.

Patrick picked up a small bottle of mead. "What the…"

"It's supposed to summon Freya. Or at least that's what Gerard says. She's a goddess of magic who can bend reality and help people in danger. This will protect us if things go south," said Pete. "There's a stuffed cat," Patrick said, picking up the toy in question. "She likes cats and we don't have one," he reasoned. Patrick paused, then frowned.

"Isn't Freya a love goddess?" He put the mead and the toy back.

"Maybe?" Pete shrugged. "I don't know, this is what Mikey suggested." Patrick was shaking. Pete thought at any moment he would turn around and pummel him.

Instead, Patrick took him by surprise by collapsing to his knees, arms around himself. Pete rushed to his side and knelt, and he saw Patrick was crying.

"What's wrong?" Pete asked.

"I want to go home," Patrick said, hugging himself.

"Hey, it's only," Pete checked his watch. "Eleven more hours. It's fine, we're going to be fine." He'd never seen Patrick like this before. Sure, he could be pissy on investigations, and a few times he'd even walked out. But this was unexpected; Patrick looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. "Come on, Trick, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"This house," Patrick said. "I don't want to stay here."

Pete was conflicted. On the one hand, he didn't realize how afraid Patrick was. He loved Patrick, he was Pete's golden ticket to stardom. Patrick had some of the strongest medium skills that Pete had ever seen. And even seasoned professionals were usually blown away by him. They'd solved murders because of Patrick, for fuck's sake! But it wasn't just that. Patrick was sweet, but still an asshole. Considerate but stubborn. Not to mention, he was beautiful. He was so many things that made Pete want to drop to his knees and propose marriage.

On the other hand, it was too late to turn back. They were on the verge of having their own television show, all they needed was one more win, and this house was it. As much affection as he had for Patrick, he couldn't let that slip through their fingers. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Patrick, I almost never say this, but fucking stop already. We're here, we're doing this, so pull yourself together because you're up next," Pete said, and got to his feet. There was a soft sigh of disappointment. Though it sounded more like it was coming from behind Pete than from Patrick.

He looked up at Pete and said, "You're such a jackass."

"Yeah, well, deal with it. I promise I'll make it up to you later," he replied. Patrick got up and left the room, wiping at his face with the sleeves of his cardigan. He was instantly awash with guilt, but he brushed it aside. He'd get Patrick something nice, maybe take him to dinner when this was all over. He'd get over it.

* * *

Two hours later, they had finished Patrick's segment. He confirmed everything Pete and Joe had said. He'd managed to get his shit together, but he was not the least bit happy and it showed. Pete still felt guilty for forcing him into it, but it was for the best, for all of them. Once his segment was done, Pete turned to the camera. "And now, we're going to try something we've never attempted on any other ghost hunt. We're going to try using a ouija board to communicate with the spirits of this house."

Patrick groaned and muttered, "Margaret says you're an idiot."

"Tell her to say it to my face," Pete replied.

"She is. It's not her fault you can't hear her," Patrick said. Pete laughed, and they went back to the parlor.

Pete showed the circle to the viewers and explained what it was for. He added, "Should anything go wrong, this will protect us. Mikey and Gee if you're watching, thanks again for the instructions. Hope I did it right." "Looks good to me," Joe said, walking around the circle. "Awesome. Okay so gather over here," Pete said, leading them to a circular table. He'd already set up the candles and the ouija board, along with four chairs.

He showed everyone where to sit. He made sure that Patrick was right across from him. Andy set the camera up on a tripod, and they were ready to go. As Joe lit the candles, Patrick said, "I'd like to reiterate for the record this is a stupid idea."

"I thought you said ouija boards aren't anything to be afraid of," Andy said.

"And if this were an ordinary haunted house I would stand by that," he shot back. "Demons cancel that out!"

"There's only one," Joe muttered and Patrick sighed.

"One's enough," Patrick told him.

Pete instructed everyone to place their hands on the planchette. Pete let out a deep breath and said, "Spirits of the house, we come to you, asking for your words, and your wisdom. We--" The planchette started to move, and Pete glared as it did. "I wasn't finished talking!"

"G-E-T-O-U-T-N-O-W… Get out now," Joe said.

"Who is speaking?" Andy asked. Patrick was looking over Pete's shoulder. He looked like he was trying to keep from laughing.

"...It just says get the FUCK out," Joe said once the planchette was done moving.

Pete groaned. He then glared at Patrick and said, "You're moving it."

"No, I'm not, it's Archibald," he replied.

"Who the fuck is Archibald?" Joe asked.

"The valet?" Patrick said, and at the blank looks, he sighed. "The guy who killed himself in Hildegard's room."

"Oh shit, that's his name?" Joe exclaimed.

"Patrick, I'm going to have to ask you to take your hands off the planchette and step away from the ouija board," said Pete.

Patrick sighed and did just that, getting up from the table and walking across the room. He had his glasses off so he almost ran into a chair. But once he was away from the board, he started whispering to someone, or something. "And be quiet!" Pete instructed.

"Whatever," Patrick grumbled.

They turned back to the board, and Pete started again. "Look, we got the message. But we're not going anywhere. So what can you tell us about Hart and Rose?" They watched as the planchette moved, so violently they had to take their hands off it.

"Are you getting this?" Joe asked Andy.

"Yeah," he said, thumbing at where the camera was angled. "The viewers must be going apeshit."

"What's it say?" Patrick called.

Pete frowned, then looked over at Patrick. "Uh, nothing. It's gibberish." It was times like this that he was glad Patrick couldn't read minds. The looks that Andy and Joe were giving him were not friendly. He couldn't say he blamed them. Suddenly, Pete realized exactly how big of a mistake he'd made.

Patrick was staring at them, frozen in place. He'd gone pale, even more so than usual, and he said, "There's something behind you."

Pete turned around, but of course, he couldn't see anything. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Patrick said. There was a tremble in his voice. "But it's big. Really big."

The planchette suddenly went flying across the room. It would have hit Patrick in the head if he hadn't ducked. Then a fire ignited in the fireplace, and far from being cheerful, filled Pete with dread.

"Fuck!" Joe yelled, and jumped up and moved away from the ouija board. Andy did the same, while Pete looked around in bewilderment.

"Is it still here?" Pete asked. Patrick shook his head.

"No, it's gone."

Pete blew out the candles, then turned to the camera. "Can you believe what just happened? I almost can't and I was sitting here for it! We're going to cut the feed to this camera but again you can still watch us on the webcams. We'll be right back." He then turned it off and said, "Okay seriously what the fuck?!"

"I fucking told you there's a demon here!" Patrick yelled.

"Is that what did that?" Andy asked.

"Pretty sure," said Patrick.

Pete rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Patrick, Joe, why don't you guys go grab us some snacks. Then we can talk about how we're splitting up tonight."

"You can't be serious!" Patrick yelled.

"I'm with him," Joe said. "After what just happened, I don't think we should be splitting up."

"It's just for an hour!" Pete insisted. "We each take a hot spot and a camera and do our usual bit. Then once it's over we all come back here and spend the night in the parlor. It's easy."

Joe was frowning and crossed his arms. "Pete, we've already gotten enough footage to keep us going for ages. We're probably trending on YouTube right now. I don't think we should be tempting fate like this."

"I'm actually with Pete," said Andy, and Patrick's jaw dropped. "What?" "It's not that bad! Besides, if we run into trouble we can always come back down here to the circle," he said, gesturing to it.

"Yeah exactly!" Pete agreed.

"But Pete--" Joe started but Pete cut him off.

"Go get the sandwiches! I need to talk camera set up with Andy," Pete commanded. Patrick was glaring at him mutinously before he left the room. Joe was about to follow when Pete grabbed his arm. "Don't tell him what the message said."

"Yeah, because I wanna freak him out more," muttered Joe, and he walked out. That left Pete and Andy, and Pete said, "Okay, so on a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we?"

"I'd say about a hundred and thirteen," he replied.

"He should be okay though, right? I mean, it's Patrick."

Andy crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not getting out of here until morning unless we break a window or possible chop down the door with an ax. You saw to that, Pete. I don't think us being separated is going to put us in any more danger than we're already in."

"We can't be hurt though," Pete mumbled.

"Not physically," Andy agreed. "But that's not what it's after, and you know that. So if you have some kind of secret weapon or something, now's the time to break it out."

The problem was, Pete didn't. So he asked, "So we should tell Patrick to stay down here in the circle?"

"Probably best."

"Okay. Do you think it'll come after the rest of us?"

Andy shrugged. "Fuck if I know, who do I look like? Ed Warren?"

* * *

An hour later, it was close to midnight, and they were in their separate rooms. Patrick had been told to stay in the parlor, close to the circle. Pete was regretting not keeping at least one cell phone on them. He was glad he'd listened to Andy about old school walkie talkies. He turned his on and said, "We're about to go dark. Anyone have anything to say before we do?"

"This is stupid," Joe said.

"I want to go home," Patrick added.

"It's one hour, then we can get back to the parlor and read and shit until dawn," Pete said. "Everyone ready?"

"No," Joe and Patrick said in unison.

Pete sighed. "Look just do this, okay? It's not that fucking hard. And remember, anyone runs into trouble get on the radio right away."

There was a sigh from Andy, and he then said, "Midnight in five, four, three, two, one!"

Pete shut off the lights in the operating theater, then turned on the thermal camera. He couldn't see a fucking thing, which of course was the idea. He sat in one of the seats and waited. He wondered what he must look like to the viewers. Pretty stupid to be honest, sitting alone in the dark by himself. It was quiet. That was what was so unsettling. It was a cold night in Chicago and there should have been wind making the place creak and groan. Instead, it was the kind of silence where you could hear your own heart beating. This was the part of the investigation that Pete wasn't good at. Sitting still and waiting. He almost wanted to talk on the radio, see what the others were doing. Until he heard footsteps.

Pete sat up, hoping the recorder was still going. "Who's there?" He called. The footsteps got closer, and Pete's heart was in his throat. "Hello?"

They were getting louder, and suddenly, they stopped right in front of Pete. He could feel there was someone there, and he aimed the thermal camera directly ahead. There was the shape of a man, and Pete jumped. It was walking closer to him, arms outstretched, and Pete could hear wailing. "Help me! Help me!" The voice said. Something passed through Pete, and he shivered like someone had slipped an ice cube down his back. Then there were hands on his shoulders, grabbing him and throwing him to the ground.

He was kicked, then punched, and Pete couldn't fend off the blows. When he fought back, his fist went through air. He was grabbed again and thrown onto the gurney. He could hear the tools being picked up, and Pete scrambled for the thermal camera. He saw another man, holding up a wicked looking scalpel. Pete didn't ask questions, he jumped up and ran for the door. Something was clawing at his back, trying to sink its claws into him again. Pete pulled himself out of its grasp and heard his jacket tear. But he made it to the door, threw it open, and ran down the hall to Hildegard's room.

He got there just in time to hear a frightened yell from Andy. Throwing the door open, Pete rushed inside and turned on the light, and gasped. The dolls were everywhere, floating through the air, their little hands outstretched. Andy's eyes were wide with terror, but he was holding on to his camera. His hair was disheveled and he looked as though someone had smacked him. Worst of all, there was the ghost of a man in a bloody suit right behind Andy!

"Andy!" Pete yelled.

He looked to Pete, then turned around and screamed.

The ghost was crying blood and wailing, "Help us! Get us out of here!"

"Andy come on!" Pete swatted the dolls out of the way and grabbed Andy's arm, pulling him out the door.

They stood in the hall, panting and trying to keep from screaming. Andy then was patting himself down and said, "Shit! I forgot my radio!"

"I've got mine!" Pete said, as his walkie talkie was still clipped to his jeans. He turned it on and said, "Guys, are you okay? Joe? Patrick?"

That was when they heard Joe yell. Pete and Andy exchanged glances, then ran to the stairs. It seemed as though the house was coming alive around them. Pete could see things moving out of the corner of his eye, and hear laughter as well as screams. They rushed down the stairs to find Joe on the landing. His eyes wide as a woman approached him.

Her head was at a sickening angle, arms outstretched and reaching for him. She moaned, "Help me, please help me. It hurts."

Joe had his camera pointed at her and was filming though he was frozen in terror.

Pete jumped through the ghost then grabbed Joe by the shoulders, saying, "Let's go!" That spurred him into action, and the three of them rushed down the steps into the parlor. The sight that met Pete's eyes made his blood run cold.

Patrick was on his knees, hands over his ears and tears in his eyes. There were candles lit and the fire going. It would have been almost romantic if Patrick didn't look scared out of his wits. His glasses were gone, and there was something dark hovering over him. Patrick was pleading with it, saying, "No, please, no don't do this!" And then the darkness enveloped him.

"Patrick!" Pete screamed, running towards him. He was thrown back, as though a giant invisible fist had just punched him in the stomach. He flew into Joe and Andy, knocking them to the ground. He heard a crunching sound and knew that he'd probably just destroyed all three of their cameras. He didn't care. He was back on his feet and running towards the darkness.

It had vanished, leaving only Patrick. But he didn't look like Patrick. His eyes were a venomous yellow, and there was a grin on his face that was malicious and sent chills down Pete's spine.

"Patrick?" He said, and it grinned.

"Guess again," he said, and then shoved Pete away.

He waved his hand and the doors to the parlor closed, trapping Pete, Joe, and Andy. He then snapped his fingers, and Pete was frozen in place. He couldn't move! He struggled, but it was like his entire body was encased in cement up to his neck. Looking over at Andy and Joe, he could see they were having the same problem.

"You're the demon," Pete whispered.

"By the devils, he can think!" The demon said. He was chuckling as he continued, "I did warn you. I like to give people a sporting chance, and I do love a ouija board. But oh no, "let's split up," you said. "Let's leave our very vulnerable friend all alone in the room the demon was summoned in," you said. As though that hasn't been the worst horror cliche of all time."

"Who are you?" Joe asked.

The demon bowed, tipping his hat to Joe and saying,

"I have no true name, but I am an infernal noble. You may call me master."

"Fuck you!" Pete hissed. "Get out of Patrick's body or I'll--"

"You'll what? Frown at me?" The demon mocked.

"I'll kill you!" Pete yelled and struggled in earnest. It was no use, he couldn't move a muscle.

The demon rolled his eyes. "How original." He stalked around Andy, then Joe, finally settling on Pete. "Hm, I can see why he likes you. You're full of spirit, aren't you? Not very bright, however." He reached out and brushed the side of Pete's face with the back of his hand, and Pete tried to bite him. The demon snatched his hand back in time and he smirked. "Yes, I'll start with you."

"Start what?" Pete asked.

"Why, the process of course!" The demon said. His hands ran down his chest, saying, "This boy is all well and good, he's adorable and energetic to boot. However, I need my own body, something that's more me. I suppose three corpses isn't much to work with, but needs must." He snapped his fingers, and Pete was suddenly floating in the air, as though he were lying on a table.

Joe and Andy were screaming, and Pete couldn't hear him because of the blood rushing in his ears. He was so scared, he couldn't think. As the demon hovered over him, a knife in his hands, all he could think was about Patrick. How Patrick had told him this was a bad idea. Patrick who'd begged and pleaded to leave. Patrick who didn't want to do this in the first place. He thought of Patrick's shy smile. How he would laugh like a total dork when Pete did something dumb to impress him. His penchant for music and how much he loved it. And how Pete would never see Patrick, his Patrick, ever again. Pete felt tears stinging his eyes, and he said, "Patrick, I'm so sorry."

"You're what?" The demon asked, pausing.

"I'm sorry! I should have listened to you! I should have been smart instead of doing stupid shit to get viewers! Now you're possessed and I'm going to die and it's my fault! I'm fucking sorry!"

The demon stilled, then said, "That's all you had to say."

Pete dropped to the floor, and could suddenly move again. He looked up to see the darkness leave Patrick, and his yellow eyes turning to blue. The doors to the parlor opened, the fire went out, and everything was back to normal. The darkness itself transformed into a skinny guy with red hair, yellow eyes, and a smug grin.

"Told you that would work," the demon said.

"What. The. Fuck," said Pete.

Patrick helped him up and said, "It's kind of a long story."

"That starts with you being an ass," the demon said.

* * *

Once Pete didn't feel so much like he was going to piss himself, Patrick explained. They were set up at the table again, five chairs this time so the demon could sit with them. The demon had snapped his fingers and made a full tea set with sandwiches and cookies appear. He was fixing a cup of tea and looking quite pleased with himself.

"It happened earlier when you told me to go pull myself together," Patrick said. "I was in the bathroom freaking out when this guy appeared and scared the daylights out of me."

"Unintentional, I assure you," he said. "See, I don't actually live here. I visit sometimes. Especially on Halloween! There's always one or two humans knocking about who could use a good dose of terror."

"So, you're not the demon Hildegard Rose summoned?" Joe asked.

"I am. But that whole thing with the 'build a body for the demon' was something her husband made up. Mad fucker, that one. Liked to use me as an excuse to be the murdering prick that he was. Trade secret, by the way. Demons will never, ever convince you to do something you don't want to do. If it's not consensual it's not fun," he said.

"What about the ghosts? Were you controlling them?" Pete inquired.

The demon shook his head. "Not controlling, no. I told them the plan and asked if they wanted to join in. They agreed as they don't like ghost hunters. As I said, everything I do is consensual."

"Then how did you possess Patrick like that?" Asked Andy.

Patrick shrugged. "I said he could." Pete's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"I said he could," Patrick repeated. "Pete, you've been getting out of control on this stupid show for months. Doing dumber and dumber things to get viewers. I know you want us to be the next Ghost Adventures, but enough is enough! You're going to get us into serious trouble someday if you keep this up!"

"He told me the last place you went was London and you were taunting the ghost of Jack the Ripper," the demon said.

"Just a little! I thought if we could get him to appear--" But Patrick cut him off.

"You didn't care about proving who Jack the Ripper was. You just wanted something on film to sell to the Travel Channel," Patrick said.

"He's right," Andy said. "I know I wasn't helping. I was completely enabling you. But Pete, this has got to stop. I think we lucked out here that the malevolent forces aren't so much malevolent as kind of a dick."

"Hey!" The demon snapped.

Pete sighed, rubbing his face. God, he was so tired. But he had to admit, they were right. "Okay, fine. No more stupid stunts. Though after tonight I suppose we won't need to."

"Actually…" Patrick trailed off and looked at the demon.

"I disabled your cameras when the clock struck midnight. None of this is being filmed," he said.

"You what?!" Pete yelled, getting to his feet. "Patrick, how--"

"I meant what I said!" Patrick shot back, getting to his feet as well. "And the deal I made with the demon said no evidence he's here! Jesus Pete do you think the ghosts like having people like us around?! They don't! It's fucking annoying to them, an invasion of privacy! Something I've been trying to tell you since we started! Do you think I like having to come into someone's home? Interrupting their afterlife with our bullshit?!"

"I--" Pete started, but Patrick wasn't done. "People died here, Pete! They've died everywhere we go! You've never respected that! Any time we go somewhere you always delight in telling everyone the grisly details! Then you have me talk to these poor souls who want nothing more than to be left alone! How would you like having a camera shoved in your face after you were murdered and asked how you feel about it? Because I guarantee, you would hate it!"

"I've never heard you talk like that before," Pete said quietly. He hardly registered that Joe, Andy, and the demon had left the parlor.

"I have, you never listen to me," Patrick replied. He was trembling and looked like he was on the verge of tears. "Pete, I fucking hate this work. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to go back to music." He was the picture of misery, and Pete was kicking himself.

Had he been so blind? He'd completely missed how unhappy Patrick was. He knew that Patrick had been dropping hints that he wanted to take a break or leave the team altogether. Pete had chosen to ignore them, so sure this was the right path for them. That shy smile of Patrick's he'd so loved, he'd been seeing less and less of it lately. And he and Patrick had been fighting more and more. The last place they'd gone, Pete had practically blackmailed Patrick into doing it. He'd promised studio time and a nice long vacation so he could work on his music.

Instead, the Kickstarter had happened and they were here. Patrick had cried when he was told what they were doing, and Pete had ignored it. Looking back, there were many times Pete had pressured Patrick into this. They'd gotten some of their best footage. They had great reviews and they even had corporate sponsorship for their channel now.

But Patrick was pale, he was losing weight from stress, and Pete couldn't believe he'd done this to him. What was worse, Pete was aware it wasn't just the show. There was another reason, a selfish reason for keeping Patrick so close at hand.

"I'm sorry," Pete said, looking down at his feet. "I've been thinking about me. Not only Dead on Arrival but… About what I want."

Patrick frowned. "What?"

"I want you," said Pete, looking Patrick in the eye. "You're hot, you're funny, you're the most talented person I've ever met in more ways than one. I've never had the nerve to ask you out, I realize now I was using Dead on Arrival as an excuse to keep you close to me. When I promised you a break, I panicked and thought that I might never see you again once you got away from all this. So I--"

"You decided that holding a fundraiser and pulling another stupid stunt was the best way to keep me with you? Instead of keeping your word and letting me rest?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Pete muttered.

"You're a fucking lunatic." Pete was about to agree when Patrick suddenly grabbed him by the lapels and kissed the fuck out of him.

He was so surprised it took a minute for his brain to accept what was happening (Patrick was _kissing_ him!) and then kiss back.

Their arms wrapped around each other, and Pete opened his mouth for Patrick, kissing hard and fast. He knocked Patrick's hat off, and Patrick's hand fisted in Pete's hair and pulled. Pete groaned.

Eventually, they had to come up for air. Patrick was blushing as he said, "I wasn't leaving forever, you doofus."

"I may have panicked and reacted in a way that didn't make sense to anyone but me," Pete replied. He then asked, "But, why now? I thought you didn't want a relationship with me."

"I said I wasn't ready," Patrick said. "I mean, I was a kid and you were this awesome guy who was at an age you could have been my older brother. I wasn't saying no to you forever, just that particular day."

"So we could have been dating since then?" Pete asked with a pout.

"Yeah," Patrick said. "I was ready about six months later, but by then you were too invested in your show. I thought I could put up with it for a while and you'd change your mind."

"Holy shit we're both fucking stupid," Pete exclaimed.

"You more than me," Patrick replied. Pete kissed him again, and Patrick gave a sweet little sigh when their lips met.

Pete wanted to do this forever. But he could hear a clock chiming somewhere, and he pulled away and said, "Oh shit, I think it's almost time to go."

Joe was walking back into the parlor with the demon.

The demon said, "Your friend's almost here. I should get going." When he saw that Patrick and Pete were holding each other, he grinned. "Nice to see you two getting along."

"Fuck you," Pete muttered, but didn't move away from Patrick.

"No thank you, I'm married," he said and chuckled. "Good evening, gentlemen. Don't come back." And with that, the demon vanished in a puff of black smoke.

"Where's Andy?" Patrick asked and Joe shrugged.

"Having a meltdown. Most of the equipment's trashed. We don't have much usable footage. This was a total bust," Joe said.

"Not total," Pete said and kissed Patrick's cheek. Patrick smiled at him.

"You're going to be one of those embarrassing corny boyfriends, aren't you?"

"You know it," Pete replied, and Patrick laughed.

They could hear the front door unlocking, which meant Mikey had arrived. It was time to leave.

"Happy Halloween, Patrick."

"Happy Halloween, Pete."

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://talkingcinemalight.tumblr.com)


End file.
